Malcolm (Henchmen MC Next Generation 2)

The only thing working in my favor at the moment was Billie still hadn't seemed to get the memo about Rowe joining the MC.

How that was possible was beyond me. News traveled fast not only in our town, but in our family. It should have been front-page news about my friend joining the Henchmen.

"Oh, good. The line isn't too bad," Gracie said as we got close to the club. We had to travel two towns over since nowhere in Navesink Bank would do something like karaoke.

"You girls have your weapons?" I asked, watching as they all double-checked. Raised by bikers and ex-gang-leaders, they all knew to be prepared for any sort of problem when going out.

"Shit," Willa said, eyes going wide as she rummaged through her small bag. "I must have left it in my bigger purse. Damnit. My father would kill me if he knew I went out without something."

"Here," I said, pulling open the glove compartment, nearly having my small arsenal fall on the floor at Hope's feet. Grabbing some pepper spray, I handed it back to her.

"My savior," she said, tucking it away. "Now Dad never has to know."

"Billie," I called, turning to look over at her after I pulled up to the curb.

It was no secret that while Billie's mom, Peyton, was pretty damn comfortable with using weapons, her daughter was all love and light and peace.

"Using weapons is archaic and brutal," she declared, chin angling up.

"So is getting raped in a dark alley," I shot back, feeling like an ass when she jerked back, her eyes getting sad. I wasn't the blunt cousin. I let Fallon handle that shit. But sometimes you had to use shock value to get a reaction out of people who were being stubborn.

"I always have my extendable baton," she said, sighing, as she wiggled her keychain at me. There was a smaller than I would have liked baton in case she needed it on a breakaway chain for easy access.

"Don't worry, big guy," Hope said, putting her combat-boot-clad foot on my dash, pulling up her pant leg to show me the gun she had strapped there. "No one is touching any of us."

"Good," I said, nodding. You could always count on Hope being strapped. Choosing to go into private investigation, she was trained to be prepared. And after a job went south, landing her beaten and bloodied, she doubled down on the weapons. I would get that if I opened her bag, I would find at least two more self-defense items there.

"Okay now that we have that out of the way," Billie declared, yanking open her door, and jumping out. Willa and Gracie followed.

When Hope reached for her door handle, I grabbed her wrist, making her turn back with a raised brow.

"What's up?"

"How does she not know?" I asked, shaking my head.

"Who? And what?"

"Billie. About Rowe," I said.

"Oh, right. Well, I think we have all, collectively, but without actually discussing it, decided that it would save all of us—and poor Rowe—a lot of frustration if she, you know, takes her sweet time figuring it out."

"Smart," I said, nodding.

"Yeah. We will call you when we are paying. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on them."

"You need to unwind a little too," I told her. As a general rule, Hope didn't take criticism, even of the constructive and caring sort, from many of us. But she usually did let me step over that boundary of hers. "You've been working too hard."

"They are going to learn to respect me," she told me, a hint of rare vulnerability in her voice. "But to get that from them, I need to work twice as hard and be three times as good."

"You are."

"Tell them that," she said, snorting. "But don't actually do that," she said, tone going serious. "I mean it."

"I won't. But have some fun with the girls. Forget about it for a few hours."

"That's the plan," she agreed, giving me a small smile. "I'll call."

"Thanks. Be safe," I said before she closed the door.

I sat there and waited to make sure they got in before pulling away.

On girls nights, I always had the same destination in mind.

I couldn't go home because it was too far, and I didn't like being more than five minutes away from the bar because the idea of the girls standing out front waiting for me made me anxious. Even if I knew there was always a doorman around.

They weren't in Navesink Bank.

I didn't have as much pull with employees like I did in our town. I couldn't count on the security ensuring the safety of the girls because they were worried about my—and the rest of the club's—wrath.

So I liked to stay close.

The only places in the immediate vicinity that were open twenty-four hours was a chain coffee place, and a small diner.